Tag Archives: empty

No Stuffing Please

No stuffing please…

When our hearts are vulnerable or wounded, feeling weak to the temptations around us, hurt from something that brought us to our knees, or just plain old SAD….. This is not the time for stuffing the void with nonsense,  It is not the time to go clothes shopping nor is it the time to peek our nose into the pantry for something delicious.  It is not the time to call an old beau or wallow in self-pity or go for a quick fix.  A false action taken to remove the feeling we are feeling will only mask the upset, and fill the hole temporarily.  Just like a slow leaking drain or a puddle after the rain… the water that was just there will soon be gone.  Oh sure, it can be filled again… but only to empty again.

A more permanent solution…. rather than stuff ourselves up with physical ME pleasure, worldly delicacies and self -loathing we can fill it slowly with kind gestures, positive actions and self-love.

This would be a good time to sit quietly and reflect on what is really going on.  It may be the time to open a journal, the Bible, or that great book on the coffee table.  It may be the time to call a friend, to do something good for ourselves.  Find a new craft to take on, start to bake those amazing cookies for the Christmas Cookie swap, detail your car or learn a new makeup technique from an online video.

It is the time for healing, adornment and wonderfulness.  A time to treat ourselves well.  A time to be good and kind and loving to YOU.

Stuffing is fantastic on Thanksgiving and even better the day after, but stuffing oneself with bad choices which only leave us feeling empty tomorrow… is NOT the way to go.

Choose to fill your heart with the things that bring you joy and sit happily with that.  🙂

 

xoxo

Your God Girl

Tracy

The Empty Field

The Empty Field….

It was a simple task. Fill out your user profile in the new expense system at work. Verify name, address, phone number, date of birth.

Marital Status.

There is not a drop-down for “f you” or “none of your business.”

There is not an option that says “Divorce in progress.”

I need a gosh damn yield sign because the next question is even better: Emergency Contact Information.

Can I put a coworker? Is that weird? Who would I like you to call in case I break a leg, get in a car accident, or worse, die? Shall I also put my life insurance policies into the comments field, as well as their distribution amounts?

I was so proud to be a wife, and I wasn’t just proud to be the noun, I was proud to be his wife. It didn’t care if you were the mail carrier, the grocery store employee, the doctor, the co-worker, the playdate counterpart I just met. I was proud to take his name, be his association, be his person.
He was supposed to be my person. The one who listened to my bad day, who knew how I liked my coffee, who could identify my mood based on the appearance or disappearance of a beauty mark on my face, who knew the right spot on my neck to kiss, the jokes to make me laugh, the right amount of time to hold me before he pulled away.

He was supposed to be the luckiest man alive whether we were together in a room of 20, 200, or 2,000 people.

He was supposed to be my forever emergency contact. The person whose heart would cease to beat if mine did.

He was supposed to be the one they called if something happened to me.

My mouse cursor slowly blinks at me, patiently but passive aggressively waiting for an answer, kind of like how I waited for him for so long and I am reminded.

I am reminded I am my own person. He isn’t my person anymore.

And when the coroner called to announce the death of our marriage he didn’t answer the phone anyway, and his voicemail box was full of all the preliminary warning messages he never wanted to listen to.

The mouse cursor blinks on.

-Jessica: Awesome Single Mama

I Knew Then

I knew. I knew a thousand times over.

I promise myself that I will write this once. I will write and I will leave it. I won’t retouch it or second guess it. I will not apologize for it.

I won’t forget it but I will not live in it. I will not bathe in the sadness of it. The anguish of the emptiness that defines this part of my life.

This hollow part in my center.

I have not allowed myself to really feel despair to this point. The literal mourning to my core that makes me question, can I do this today? Can I do this life?

I spent years, ten of them married, making sure that someone else was OK. I lived for it. I lived to take care of someone else. I felt responsible. I never felt trapped or obligated. I never felt stuck or unsure.

If anything, I was sure. I was certain. I was certain that if I tirelessly loved this man without end I could make him better. I could make him love me the way that I loved him.

I could make him love being a father. I could make him love being a husband. I could make him love his life. I could wait him out. He would return to me.

I really did believe that.

But underneath, I knew.  If I replayed all the things he’s said or done to me that he’s long forgotten, or buried in shame, I knew a thousand times.

We stood outside all that.

I loved him relentlessly through everything.

I loved him through addiction. Recovery. Relapse. Unemployment. Bankruptcy. Home loss. Mental illness. Lying. Betrayal. Loneliness. I had such an uncompromising determination to believe that so much was out of his control to the point that no matter the amount of hurt it caused me, it suddenly occurred to me that it would never actually end.

I clung to small moments of happiness like a child clings to their lovey in their sleep. I carried them around like fragile pieces of glass, and they got me from minute to minute, month to month…year to year.

I know what it feels like to love someone so loyally and unconditionally that I overlooked and compartmentalized so much and so well that I literally drowned in my own care giving. I drowned out everything I ever wanted, everything I ever thought it would be, everything it should have been because I believed that somewhere, deep down, the man I married was inside.

But when the divide between two people in a queen bed is so wide that being in the same room literally gave me panic attacks, or when reaching for your lover’s hand and they don’t respond, or worse, pull away, you know. When they lie in the dark and whisper “You deserve better than I can give you” and roll over to the other side. When you glance in their direction across the room, and they look away…every time. When you send the kids for a sleepover so you can eat a meal that consists of something other than fish sticks or pancakes and make love all over the house, or dance in the kitchen, or get silly drunk on the deck or go for a walk and be quiet…and none of that actually happens and instead you end up on two different couches, in the dark, dying inside.

That is what the part before the end feels like.

I remember following him out to his car one morning before work. I didn’t have shoes on and the driveway needs repaving. The gravel hurt my feet. My insides hurt more.

I said “I just want you to see me. I just want to be seen. You look right past me.”

He said nothing. And left.

This is how countless conversations went. Words came out of my mouth and into the air and disappeared.

I disappeared. Figuratively, then literally.

I left him at a wedding.

I could not bear the thought of sitting quietly with a smile plastered to my face congratulating hopeful, joyful newlyweds, while my marriage made its final descent.

I wanted to scream my vows in his face until my voice was hoarse:

“Today I am certain.  I am certain that you are the man that I was meant to live my life beside.  I stand here and I see our lives before me.  I see lazy Sunday’s and crazy work weeks, love notes taped to doors and good night kisses, stolen covers, and missing socks.  I see family, and children, and laughter and a love between us that is too big to measure.  I look forward to a life full of the planned, but mostly the unexpected. My love for you finally leaves me speechless.  Undoubtedly, from this point forward, I give you my hand to hold, and my heart to keep.”

I left the hotel room and looked back only once. The space where I wished he was standing was empty.

And I knew. It was the final time that I knew.

I took a $93 taxi and an hour drive back to what was once our home and slipped my wedding rings into my purse. As many times as I had thought about that moment before, when it finally came, it hit me like a thousand violent waves.

It was the most freeing heartache of my life.

Jessica-Awesome Single Mama